Salby Damned (11 page)

In the makeshift mortuary, the smell of sterility wafted in the air. Dr. Mo Sighal scrubbed down, having completed the autopsy upon the body of the unfortunate Mr. Brin Garrett. Before speaking, Dr. Fitzgerald looked over the remains, admiring the precise stitching at the closing of the recent incisions into the man's chest.

"How are things progressing, Mo?"

"Well, Charles, I'll have the preliminary report for you tomorrow, but I can tell you that there were no traces of drugs or alcohol in his system. However, there were no traces of red or white blood cells either. They had been assimilated by the virus cells. There is some abnormal brain shrinkage, but without the necessary scanning equipment, I cannot locate the precise cause; the optical nerves in both eyes have been dramatically constricted, and his vision would have been impaired when he was alive. The substance in his veins that used to be blood, I'll need to send to the nearest bio-laboratory for analysis. It would be fair to say that it is still capable of sustaining oxygen, although some samples had begun to deteriorate visibly." Dr. Sighal looked slightly puzzled.

"It would seem that without Dr. Shepherd, we are still only capable of educated guesses, my friend. Given the limited equipment, you've done well. We can only hope that she is still alive, or we're going to have one hell of a puzzle to solve," Charles added.

The door to the mortuary opened sharply. A young signalman, fresh faced but looking flustered, hurried in.

"Dr, Dr. Fitzgerald, Sir," he gasped, trying to steady his breathing.

"Slow down, lad, take your time and speak carefully."

The young soldier took a breath, before attempting to relay the message he had been tasked with delivering.

"Dr. Fitzgerald, Sir, I have an urgent message from MOD base Dishforth, Major Sower. It reads as follows, Sir. Evelyn Shepherd found -STOP- Lieutenant Colonel Connell and Dr. Charles Fitzgerald return to Dishforth immediately -STOP- Helicopter airborne and en-route -STOP- Confirm-STOP- End message."

"Thank you, Signalman Mathews, please confirm that we have received the message and will prepare to leave for Dishforth now. If you haven't already done so, would you inform Lieutenant Colonel Connell?"

"It's already done, Sir. The chopper should be here in just under half an hour. Thank you, Sir."

As the signalman left, and for the first time in two days, Charles felt a sense of relief that Evie was alive, although he had no indication of what shape she might be in. Wasting no time, he left Dr. Sighal to his work, the next autopsy being to examine the small child.

Charles headed back to the main offices, looking for Richard. He left Dr. Sighal with instructions for the rest of the team and in temporary medical command of the location. Charles walked back with an added sense of urgency, meeting Lieutenant Colonel Connell on the way, who was apparently already looking for him.

“Did you get the message, Charles?”

"Yes. I was just coming to find you. How long until the chopper arrives?"

"It won't be too long. Are you ready to go? You'll be leaving your team here to finish up, I take it?"

"Yes, Richard. There are still some tests to be completed at the wellhead, and with the bodies we found here, hopefully it won't take too long to get the results. My team are working flat out."

"Okay, good. Did they tell you anything more about Evelyn? Do you know if she's okay?"

"No, I don’t know, just the message that they had found her; that is a huge relief on its own. Hopefully, she'll be unharmed and able to fill us in on the missing pieces."

"We'll call a meeting when we get there, and I've sent instructions to Major Sower to prepare the function room ready."

In the distance, the melodic low-pitched thump of the helicopter rotor engine indicated it would land in a matter of minutes to take them back to Dishforth Base.

***

At West Tower Two, Nathan had been telling Chris about the last few years since they had seen each other. He spoke of the death of his wife Katelyn in the car smash, and how the effect of that had turned his life into a whirlpool of despair. He spoke of his job as a freelance reporter, and they chatted about old times as they kept watch over the main base fences. As he scanned the tree line, Nathan picked up movement through the foliage. Branches bent and sharp cracks echoed as fallen sticks were broken. Something or someone was coming in and fast.

Looking over at West Tower One, he pressed the talk button, bringing the small handset to his mouth.

"Chris, eleven o’ clock, coming through the tree line. Can't make it out yet. Take a look and see if you can get a better view from over there."

"Roger that! Checking now!"

Their tones changed in an instant from light-hearted banter to professional soldiers, their civilian lives put on hold for another time. The rustling of the trees continued as the first infected deadhead burst into the rough ground, bounding forwards towards the mines.

"Chris, I got one, possibly others. I'll cover this one; scan for more activity as I don't think he's alone."

Grabbing the loud hailer, Chris spoke clearly and firmly.

"Stand to!"

The fence guards on the ground dispersed into a flurry of activity, taking up cover and loading weapons as they too scanned the surrounding area beyond the fence. Placing the loud hailer back at his feet, Chris raised his weapon to scope out any more inbound threats, picking out three more in the slightly orange hue from the scope.

"Got three more inbound, same track as the first," Stewey spoke into the radio, letting Nathan know.

Nathan levelled the crosshairs of the scope on the approaching deadhead, taking note of his strides as he bobbed up and down. Not yet firing, he shouted at the incoming man.

"Army stop! You are approaching an anti-personnel mined area. Stand still and you will not be harmed."

All military personnel on guard duty had been instructed to shout a warning to anyone approaching before opening fire. As yet, no one had responded to the warnings.

The deadhead male forged onwards, only slowed by the tall, knotted grass hindering his feet. The incoming deadhead looked drawn and exhausted, with cobalt dark circles around shiny black sunken eyes; this man looked like he hadn't slept for at least two days. He wore blue overalls, and though stained and dirty from the woodland passage, the faded SGFC logo at the left shoulder could still be seen. He must have been one of the first infected at the wellhead location, almost twenty miles south, and yet, here he was, a hundred yards from the Dishforth Base West fence.

Still closing, the deadhead was intent on making the twelve-foot high razor-wired perimeter. Nathan placed the crosshairs of the scope mounted on the sniper rifle between the man’s eyes, counting the rhythm of his steps. Flicking off the safety and pausing at his exhale, he squeezed back on the steel trigger, holding the target in his vision as the rifle recoiled slightly with a loud crack, sending the .300 calibre round on its fatal short flight.

The impact lifted the deadhead male clear off his feet, throwing him backwards into the grass. Fragments of the bridge of his nose catapulted from the back of his head, having passed straight through, pulling with them brain matter and a coffee-mat-sized section of the back of the man's skull, which somersaulted through the air to land a few feet behind the body.

Chris had the second in his sights, and after shouting at the man to stop without response, he took him out with a clean shot through the left temple, the bullet exiting cleanly and dropping the deadhead, inertia sending his body sliding forwards on his belly.

The first of the two remaining deadheads approached the edge of the mined area. The fence guards took aim, and with six SA80 rifles trained on the female aggressor and no response to two verbal warnings to stop, they opened fire, cutting her down before she could advance any further. The smaller rounds ripped into her body. Designed to stay in, rather than exit, they watched as the female performed a bizarre dance when each bullet found its mark. After vital organs were hit, the woman fell to her knees, and with one final look as the life left her body, she tumbled forward, burying her face in the turned earth to move no more.

Nathan picked up the last of the group in his sights. This one was a young girl, early teens by her clothing, her face still showing the tinges of excess make-up and heavy eyeliner. She was probably only infected recently with the virus, maybe by one of the fallen deadheads. He heard the warnings given by the fence guards as the girl entered the mined area, less than thirty feet from the fence. After no response, the teenager began to walk forwards, moving quickly and from side to side, intentionally or as a result of the virus would never be known. She crossed the main threshold into an area covered with PMN Anti-Personnel Fragmentation Mines, as well as the smaller and much harder to see BPD-SB-33 scatter mine, which looked like an oddly shaped large cookie, about nine inches in diameter and sandy brown in colour.

A shot from one of the fence guards hit the girl at the left kneecap, shattering the joint and spinning her to the left as her arms flailed for balance. Just about standing, she tried to bear weight on the shattered limb, which sent her falling sideways to the ground, landing on the PMN mine buried beneath the surface. The fence guards hit the deck in unison, taking cover as she began to fall, knowing of the imminent explosion. With a barely audible click as the mine activated, the force of the ejected metal fragments and shards within the mine separated the young girl from her legs at the waist, sending her torso in an arm-spinning arc ten feet backwards as her severed lower limbs half-cartwheeled in the opposite direction. As she landed on her shoulders, her torso had fallen on another hidden mine, this time detonating beneath her and forcing her internal organs upwards, parting her chest in a shower of ribs, heart, lungs, spinal column, and infected viral blood, and taking her right arm off at the shoulder joint to land a few feet away.

In full view of the fence guards, two of the civilian staff bent over retching and convulsing uncontrollably. They must have been first timers.

"Can you see any more of them, Chris?" Nathan said into the radio.

"None seen, think that was the last of them. She was only a baby, really, it's tragic. Is everyone alright on your end?"

"Yes, mate. A few twitchy stomachs, but they'll be okay with some air and fresh water. It's never easy to watch someone die, let alone a youngster."

"Even I find it upsetting. What happens to the bodies?" Nathan asked.

"Clearing crews will be out tomorrow in the day. It seems those infected don't seem to come as often during daylight. We can cover the crews while bodies are removed and taken to a makeshift crematorium behind the tall trees there. Basically, it's a huge hole dug out with the dozer, laced with jet fuel and almost constantly burning. We can't risk infection or disease from the corpses," Chris replied, in a matter-of-fact way.

"Understandable. When this is over, there will be thousands of missing, presumed dead."

Throughout the night, there were many skirmishes with the infected, and as the sun began to rise, it became clear how many had lost their lives. The perimeter fences were littered with bodies, some victims of the mines and others at the hands of the base defenders. The radio crackled with static before Nathan heard the voice.

"That's about us done. Relief cover will be here any minute now. You'll be wanting to check on the kids and get some shut-eye, I guess. I'm going for food first. Oh listen, we're heading out by chopper for a supply run tonight. You fancy coming?"

"Sounds good to me. I'm up for that, mate." Nathan replied.

"Sterling work, I'll see you at the helipad at 2100 hours. Later, fella."

The next guard shift arrived a few minutes later to relieve their tired colleagues. With a basic briefing to the female sniper relieving him, Nathan cleared his weapon, removed the magazine, and placed it in his webbing. He would go back to the children, check on them, and then clean the rifle before re-loading the mags and locking the gun away for the day.

***

Loud rapping upon the bathroom door woke Evie, now in an ambient temperature bath. She raised her legs sharply, sending a tidal wave of bathwater splashing over the floor.

“Dr. Shepherd, are you in there? Is everything okay? Dr. Shepherd?”

It was Major Sower, making good on his word. She tried to come to her senses.

I must have fallen asleep. How long have I been here?

She frantically tried to stand up but the bath was slippery.

“Ummm, just a minute, Sir. Yes, I’m okay. Just a minute and I’ll be right with you, sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, take your time. The helicopter sent to get the C.O. and Dr. Fitzgerald should be arriving very shortly. It’s 0600 hours, so if you’re quick, you might have time for breakfast at the cookhouse.”

“Six … Six o’clock!!” she said, almost shouting, “Shit! I’ve been out for almost six hours, sorry, Sir. I’ll be right there, just give me a few minutes, and I’ll meet you at the helipad.”

“Understood.” That was the only reply through the closed door as the major left.

Evie dried herself, throwing the towel over the pool of spilled water in a half-hearted attempt to clean it up. There would be cleaners, but she didn’t want them to have to clean up her mess. Mopping up the worst of it, she hung the towel over the bath, having pulled the plug to drain it. It’ll dry eventually, she thought.